


Pup

by ParagonDeLurid



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aftercare, Anxiety Disorder, Author Projecting, Companions (Elder Scrolls), Developing Relationship, Dom Farkas, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nicknames, Non-Sexual Submission, Panic Attacks, Reading Aloud, Short One Shot, Sub Dragonborn, Werewolves, implied/referenced eating disorder, not edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23625535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParagonDeLurid/pseuds/ParagonDeLurid
Summary: The Harbinger never really was fit to be a leader.In which Bjarki is sad and anxious, and Farkas is there for him.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Pup

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit sad and lonely right now, so I'm projecting onto a character. Definitely a healthy thing to do.
> 
> Not edited at all. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> [I know Farkas talks about not being able to read, but let's pretend my Dovahkiin taught him]

Bjarki never did want to be a leader. He only joined the Companions to sell his skill with the sword on his on his back and earn quick coin. Kodlak's murder and vision of him as the Harbinger wasn't part of the plan. While the Harbinger wasn't technically a leader, the position brought the same amount of stress.

Bjarki never was sound of mind, either. Since childhood, he'd been prone to random bouts of terror or crying. Or both at the same time. High stress tended to strike panic through him as if a mage hit him with a spell. Particularly aggressive situations could make him shut off and go numb, until he was alone and broke down crying. Hunting was different... easy. His mind went elsewhere, like some kind of ritual

But today had not been Bjarki's day. A contract they took had gone awry, a little girl they were supposed to rescue died by her bandit captors. And, as the Harbinger, Bjarki took the brunt of the screams from her devastated parents. His shield-siblings tried to step in, but nothing soothed the pain of grieving parents.

Now, in the lower halls of Jorrvaskr, Bjarki was close to his breaking point. He headed to the room of the one person who he trusted in these moments: Farkas. A hurried knock on the door later, the older man was peeking out. His steel armor already gone, the black-haired warrior donned simple linen pants and an unbuttoned top.

Bjarki bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes from memories of the long day.

"Oh, pup," Farkas murmured, pulling the other man into his chest, "let's get you back to your room." They shuffled awkwardly to the largest room, the blonde still in Farkas' arms. It was Farkas who closed and locked the door, making sure no one would disturb them. An unspoken agreement between them and their sheild-siblings. If Bjarki's ever open door was locked, the other Companions knew the needed time.

"Come on, pup, let's get you out of this armor." _Pup_. Bjarki liked that nickname a lot. Before both the men cured themselves of lycanthropy, Farkas started using that nickname. They were wolves, and Bjarki was both younger and smaller than him. It stuck, and made him feel fuzzy inside.

The Harbinger complied, starting on the buckles of his heavy boots. Farkas helped him undress, removing each intricately carved armor piece with care. Bjarki rarely wore the helmet anymore. Once the blonde man was down to his tunic and pants, Farkas took his hand. He slowly led the other into the bedroom, intent on settling down with him for a nap. That usually allowed for Bjarki to calm down. Today, however, the younger had different ideas.

When Farkas sat at the edge of his bed, instead of crawling into his lap like usual, Bjarki sat on the floor between his legs. He let his head rest on the raven-haired man's thigh, breathing out a soft sigh.

"You okay, pup?" Farkas asked, combing his hands through the other's soft hair. Bjarki nodded against his leg.

"Don't you want to come up here and sleep?" A shake of the head. _No_.

The elder companion looked around the room, quickly spotting a book on the nightstand. "Why don't I read a little, then?" When the Harbinger didn't protest, he took that as an agreement and opened the book, the _Song of the Askelde Men_.

" _Fifty Nights from home I last awoke_

_upon a sky-flung cliff in Hjaalmarch Hold_

_Though my flesh had died and gone to ground_

_My Vision went on, from body unbound_

_Winking there in the vale whence I came_

_This dead man's eyes saw pale flame_

_Where men the same who took life away_

_Sung high their battle-glory and praise_

_Wafting went I, a shade or a wight_

_Through stoic pines, pitched ink of night_..."

As the man read and continued threading fingers through his hair in an almost petting motion, Bjarki's mind drifted. He really didn't know what to call Farkas. They had some sort of intimate relationship. They had sex occasionally, and Farkas helped with his episodes frequently. Bjarki liked kissing him, and Farkas let him submit when the urge got to strong. Realistically, though, he had no idea why Farkas would be romantically interested in him. Frankly, Bjarki was a mess. He had feelings for Farkas, yes, but he didn't know if they were reciprocated. But with all the older did for him, he must, right?

Caught up in his thoughts, he didn't realize when Farkas had finished reading until the man prompted him. "Puppy?" He asked, "you still here?"

Farkas rarely used puppy, rarer still than pup. Only on very special, very submissive occasions did he call Bjarki such a name.

The younger nodded against him, letting Farkas help him up and into the bed. The raven-haired warrior wrapped him up in arms and brought him close. "You're okay, pup," Farkas whispered, hands carding through the younger's blonde locks, "I got you."

The odd tear still dripped down the Harbinger's face, but his eyes were closed and his hands were fisted in the elder man's shirt. Occasionally, Farkas would wipe away a tear with his thumb or murmur a praise. The attack was decidedly over, although a deep ache in his chest remained, as always.

Yet Bjarki never felt more at peace than times like this. Not when he curled up in bed, crying. Not when he felt hunger claw at his stomach like a wild cat. Even his happiest times couldn't compare to this. Moments like this, with Farkas peppering him with affection, truly made Bjarki feel content.

"Sleep, puppy." Farkas whispered, lips ghosting across his forehead, and Bjarki drifted away.


End file.
